


Spying in Russian, And Other Things Dean Now Knows

by lovefromcaelina



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Agent Dean, CIA, CIA Agent Dean, Lawyer Sam, M/M, Russian Castiel, Spy Castiel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-19
Updated: 2016-08-04
Packaged: 2018-07-15 22:49:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7241965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovefromcaelina/pseuds/lovefromcaelina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean Winchester works for the CIA under his father, and he's the best there is. Until he's assigned a suspected threat, a Russian spy by the name of Castiel Novak. After Dean receives some serious threats form his father, Castiel takes pity on him and 'уступил ему', letting himself be taken. Then Dean is put on guard duty, checking in on Cas regularly and, while there, talking to him. Spending time with Castiel, Dean learns many things, like some Russian, how to tie a bow tie, and that everything is often not as it seems.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Bad Day's Work

There was an air of danger in the locked down garage and storage facility. A tenseness in the way the dust floated through where the suns rays managed to sneak in to the dimly lit room. Not a rustle could be heard amid the boxes and broken down cars left behind long ago. That is, until the door flew off it hinges and slammed into the grimy floor, followed by a round of gunfire. Though it sounded like a whole army of men had besieged the area, when the dust and grit cleared, only a lone man was revealed in the entrance. Not that he wasn’t a scary man. Clothed entirely in black with a buzz cut and cruel eyes, he looked lithe and heartless. His dark brown eyes scanned the perimeter and zeroed in on a seemingly shadowed part of the wall.  
“Novak- I know you’re here.” A gruff voice barked. “Might as well stop cowering.”  
The shadow silently detached from the wall, and blue eyes sparked from it, glistening with rage. “You really shouldn’t have followed me here.” There was an evident accent in the way he spoke, cutting through the letters. “One of Raphael’s minions, I suppose.” He nodded toward the other man.  
The guy must have heard something in the others voice, because he straightened imperceptibly, and, rolling his shoulders, let his hand stray to where his gun was hanging at his waist. But that was a bad move, and as his eyes followed the mans actions, the Russian man sprung.  
A third man, gone unnoticed by the two, winced and turned away, hunkering down in the back of his ’67 Chevy. He listens with grotesque amazement to the horrified screams of the drug lords minion as the man he was hunting, his “Special Case” fired shots, broke bones, and at one point employed what sounded like a child’s bicycle, at least the little bell did when- He held his breath, realizing that at some point the minion had went silent. It took all his CIA training and will to not peek out the window and see what was going on. Though, a glimpse couldn't hurt…  
“I keep saying I want nothing to do with their dirty work.” The voice echoed through the room, and the agent stiffened, clenching his fingers around the rifle in his hands. The accent that had been so strong moments before dissolved into faint traces only noticeable every other word or so. “Just as I tell you, Mr.Winchester, that I am not worth the CIA’s best agent.”  
He paused for a moment, clearly waiting for a response. The hidden man had to bite his lip to remain silent. As soon as he was sure the other’s guard lowered, he would disable him.  
“Very well. I regret to say that I must depart now.” Boots clomped in a direction away from him. “And say hi to your brother for me.”  
It took a couple of seconds for the words to sink in, but as soon as they did his body sprung into action, twisting in his spot and shoving his rifle through the open window, finger placed right above the trigger. But as hard as the man strained to look around, it was clear that he was now alone. Eventually he let his grip relax and lowered the rifle, banging his head a couple times on the door handle in frustration. For what was by far not the first time, Dean had failed.

Standing in the office of his superior, Dean Winchester kept his head lowered and silently took in all the angry ranting John Winchester was hurtling his way. Finally, after what was probably close to half an hour of non-stop insults, John stopped to catch his breath, dropping a heavy hand on Dean’s shoulder.  
“I know you’re trying son.” His voice was placid, the closest to gentle it could ever get. “But… well, it’s just not good enough.”  
Taking the momentary silence as an invitation to speak, Dean began apologizing. “I’m sorry father. I know I failed you, and I’ll try harder next time. I’ll get him.”  
The older man sighed. “That;s just the problem Dean, all you do is try. How many times do I have to tell you- stop trying, just get it done!” His voice rose as he spoke, and Dean flinched, burying his hands in his pockets to stunt the urge to cover his face. The elder Winchester continued, “So when I say this, I hope you understand that it’s nothing personal…” Dean’s stomach churned in agitation at the tone his father had taken. “But I cannot let you return home until his threat is captured.”  
He might as well have taken that samurai sword hanging like a decoration on the wall above him and plunged into his son’s stomach. All the blood left Dean’s face and went to his feet, which felt as heavy as bricks.  
“I… I can’t come home?”  
“Well it’s about time for you to get your own house anyway.”  
“Dad!”  
“Dean! You are twenty four years old! You have to begin meeting expectations- it doesn’t make a difference that you’re my son. In fact, if you don’t get him to me by the end of the week, I’m going to be forced to have you leave my unit.”  
“Your… your unit?” Dean’s ability to speak seemed to be slowly leaving him with each of his father’s words, and he watched speechlessly as his father, possessing an unbelievable calmness, gathered his papers and, with a pat on the back and quiet “Goodbye Dean.” Stepped out of the door, shutting it and the stares of everyone on that floor closed behind him.  
As soon as he was sure his father wasn’t coming back, Dean collapsed into a chair. He buried his face in his hands, letting out stream of curses as thoughts and images spun around in his head. The garage, the broken tricycle, the blood on the floor, his father, no home… Where would he go? There was no way he was getting his younger brother involved in this, Sam and their dad’s relationship was rocky at best. Uncle Bobby? No, he was out of town. And Benny had enough on his plate already… Suddenly, it came to him, and he whipped out his phone, sending a quick text. Then he stood up and marched out of the room. Ignoring the looks he got from people sitting in cubicles, Dean took the stairs two at a time down to the tech wing, where his favourite red-head was waiting for him.  
“Dean!” She called, grinning as she waved him over. He jogged toward her, trying to muster up a somewhat convincing smile.  
“So what’s wrong?” Charlie asked as soon as they were sitting. Clearly the news hadn’t reached this part of the building yet.  
“Well…” Dean glanced around, lowering his voice. “My dad kicked me out, and if I don't catch this guy by the end of the week I’m off his unit.  
“What?” She practically yelled, completely ignoring Dean’s hint at discreetness.  
He grit his teeth, staring down her Iron Man pencil sharpener to avoid meeting the gazes of curious employees. “Do you really want me to repeat it?”  
“What? Oh, no- sorry. It’s just that you’re clearly the best person there and… How ya feeling?”  
“Like a homeless man.” Dean replied, and Charlie gave him a sympathetic smile, going in for a hug but then changing her mind at the last second and giving him a pat on the back, remembering his distaste of physical affection.  
“Well you can come and stay with me.”  
“-actually I need to ask you something.”  
The two looked at each other in surprise, then Dean chuckled, feeling a bit of the worry ebb away as his friend grinned at him. “Well, that saves me the trouble of asking.”  
The rest of the day passes with Dean situated at Charlie’s desk, tapping and swiping away on his phone while she worked. At one point she glanced over to see what he was doing and raised her eyebrows. The notes app was open and filled with stuff he knew about the Russian man (which did not include how he looked, strangely enough) and ways that he could possibly be disabled. “Really? Are you sure you don’t want a chalkboard and some chalk, maybe draw a battle diagram?”  
“You should know that there is no such thing as a battle diagram. There is a battle plan though.”  
She just rolled her eyes and both went back to work, Dean planning his next encounter with Castiel Novak.


	2. Coffee Date...?

The next morning Dean sat at the counter, glaring at nothing and reminiscing about his bed, which was soft and cozy and, unlike Charlie’s couch, didn’t leave him with a crick in the neck and sour look in his eyes.  
“Morning sleepyhead!” Charlie flounced out of her room, wearing light blue jeans and a t-shirt depicting a video game character Dean had no clue about but was sure Sam would recognize instantly. “How was your sleep?”  
She only received a half-hearted grunt in response. Some time later, Charlie saw some life return into Dean’s eyes when he saw the plate of bacon and pancakes she placed in front of him. He looked up at her thankfully, and she just winked in response, sliding into the seat across from him with her own plate.  
“So what’s on the agenda today?” She inquired, tilting her head to meet Dean’s eyes. He just averted his gaze to the television, which was playing an episode from a show called Torchwood, which Sam and Charlie loved to judge and compare to Doctor Who.  
“Just some research.” He mumbled, taking another bite of pancake.  
“Uh-huh.” Charlie’s sharp gaze was becoming a little too much, and Dean shovelled some more food in his mouth before standing up.  
“Thanks a lot for the food, but I think I’ll go do some looking around, maybe find an apartment.”  
Charlie stood with him. “You know if you’re worried or stressed or need some help you can always talk to me. I can look up some stuff…”  
Dean gave her a reassuring smile, grabbing his coat with one hand and ruffling her hair with the other. She swiped at his hand but smiled back hesitantly. “Don’t you worry about me. I’ll text you around lunchtime, okay?”  
She nodded, steeping to the side so he could get to the door. “Just remember, you can always talk to us. Me and Sam, I mean.”  
“Okay Charlie.” Dean said loudly, closing the door and laughing at the pout she had on her face.  
His first stop was at the coffee shop down the street. For all her awesomeness, Charlie typically went through stages where she would completely change her lifestyle to that of whatever fictional character intrigued her at that moment. The current one had something against coffee, which resulted in her getting rid of all the caffeine. Which resulted in tired Dean. He pushed the door open and felt relived to see that there was only one other person in line. That relief quickly dissolved when he saw who was working though.  
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” He groaned, and the man infront turned around, giving him an amused look.  
“I’m guessing you know how this is going to turn out.” He said, and there was something in his voice that was familiar, but Dean was more focused on how attractive the man was. It wasn’t just the fact that he had what were probably the bluest eyes Dean had ever seen, and hair so dark and luscious and perfect for running fingers through, but also how kind his smile was.  
Dean laughed, trying not to stare too much. “Yea, you could say that much. There’s probably been only two times that I’ve come here and someone quick was serving. It always ends up being this guy- and he messes up at least one thing every time too.”  
The guy chuckled, and just opened his mouth to respond when the slow guy yelled for him to hurry up impatiently from behind the cash register. “He chooses now to be quick.” The blue-eyes man muttered, flashing Dean a flirty smile. “Can I buy you a coffee?” He asked, and, though he knew he needed to get back to work and look for a place to live, Dean couldn’t say no, and instead mustered an awkward smile and nod, following after the guy.  
They drank their coffee and chatted about movies and books, and Dean began to relax. It got to the point that he was laying out all his troubles for mystery man.  
“Your dad really kicked you out?” He asked, and Dean nodded, taking another sip of coffee.  
“Yea, and now I’m living with my friend Charlie. Oh did I mention that if I don’t do what he wants me to do, he’s going to have me fired?”  
The man’s eyebrows rose. “Fired?”  
“Well more demoted, but its still a blow.”  
Suddenly he stiffened, and Dean noticed his blue eyes became more electric. In fact, he was so busy noticing the mans eyes he nearly missed the next question.  
“Where do you work exactly?”  
“Oh, um I’m not sure if I should be telling you this but…” Dean reached into his coat pocket and pulled out his badge. “I work for the CIA.”  
He leaned over the table, and his eyes scanned the paper, widening as he read. The man sat back with a thump, staring at Dean with wide eyes. “You’re Dean Winchester?”  
“Yea, I just realized I don’t know your name! What-“  
“Sorry, I just realized I have to go.” The man looked at his watch then back up at Dean, though Dean caught a flicker of… was that fear?… in his gaze. “This was really fun, thank you for your time, Dean Winchester.” And with that, he was gone. But Dean didn’t feel the need to run after him. He was too busy figuring out why that voice was so familiar…


	3. Well that took an unexpected turn

It took a couple minutes of deep concentration for Dean to completely give up with figuring out why that strange, handsome man’s voice was so damn familiar. He just chalked it up to being similar to that of a famous singer or actor he’d heard speak recently, though the though still tugged at him in the back of his mind…  
Leaving the cafe was unnerving, to say the least. It was almost- almost as bad as making the trek to the elevator at the office last night with everyone giving him looks varying from pity to smugness. And holding Charlie back when someone made an offhand comment. Well, sure, a possible date just ran out on him, but it’s not like it was planed or anything. The blue-eyed man was just a streak of sunlight in Dean’s cloudy life. He shot at a glare at a woman in line who wouldn’t stop shaking her head and tutting at him, and she huffed and spun away in response.  
Letting the door swing shut behind him, Dean flicked the collar of his army jacket, rubbing his hands together in a vain attempt to maintain some of the warmth they had absorbed in the cafe. It definitely wasn’t this cold earlier when he had walked in. Dean came to a stop, already halfway down the street. The people walking behind him grumbled at the inconvenience and started a new pathway around him, which Dean ignored as he patted his pockets in search of his phone. How much time had passed? It couldn’t be more than half an hour, right? Finally he remembered that he was wearing this handy machine for time measurement called a watch. Reluctantly extracting his hand from the warm lining of his pocket, Dean shook down the sleeve and his eyes narrowed in on the little arrows, then shot wide open when he saw where they were pointing. No, that was impossible. He fished around in his pant pockets and finally pulled out a samsung from his back pocket.  
“Ten thirty?’ He muttered, not quite believing his eyes, though they had read the same on both clocks. How had over an hour passed while he talked with a complete stranger? That was almost rom-com weird.  
It also meant that he’d have to save apartment hunting for another day, as he had an appointment with a gang leader who was willing to provide useful information in order to not be sent to jail for, and prepare yourself for this, stealing a couple packets of mint. Now if that was not hardcore crime lord thievery, Dean didn’t know what was.  
The meeting started and ended with the poor guy shaking like a leaf under Dean’s intense gaze. He followed up that meeting by apprehending a drug dealer in the middle of a deal, which carried him up to the centre of Washington, where he got the information he needed from a man with a fake eyepatch and shaky hands who at first took Dean to be his drug dealer.  
Eventually Dean wound his way back to the Fairfax area, finding himself once again in an abandoned building, crouched between two storage units, bracing himself against the rough wood on either side. It was a tight squeeze, but also the least obvious hiding spot Dean could find, and if he really needed to he could also break through the weak and rotted wood. His gun was clenched tightly in both hands, and sweat was trickling down his neck as he waited for Novak to show up. He didn’t have a way to tell time, but Dean could guess that maybe forty-five minutes passed of absolute silence. He began questioning whether he gout duped by the creepy man behind the restaurant on whether Castiel was going to show up at all, but sucked in a breath when the door into the basement slid carefully open.  
The footsteps were quiet but still audible in the stifling silence of the room, and a shadow passed in Dean’s field of view, revealing that the man was holding a gun as well, aimed at the ground, but still large enough to make Dean’s heart stutter in fear. This was unusual. He was never scared- that’s how he had gotten so high up so quickly. Sam and Charlie joked that he had a death wish, and he had questioned the possibility of that being true. But standing here now, in the same room as a distinguished spy and killer, Dean relished in the beating of his pulse and the breath easing in and out of his lungs. He made sure to think about Sam, remembering tat he had to be there for his graduation from Stanford, for he he inevitably got accepted as a lawyer for the CIA. About Charlie and how mad she would be if he didn’t get home (because really, her home was his home at the moment) in time to catch the new episode of Game of Thrones. No, he had to make it out of this with minimum injury. There was the rustle of fabric and a slight thump that indicated him sitting down. Dean took a deep breath. It was now or never.

Castiel kept a light hold around his gun, tense and listening for any sounds. He was trained well enough to know when he had unwelcome company in the room with him, it was in the shift in the air, in the burn of eyes staring at him from a hidden crevice, and in the slight rustling of fabric as they shifted or the little ugh every time they breathed.  
That being said, he was prepared when he heard the click of a gun and footsteps, standing and turning around in one swift move, gun pointed instinctually at the general direction of the noise. Unsurprisingly, it was pointed straight at the other person, and surprisingly (or maybe not so much) the person happened to be his earlier brunch date, Dean Winchester. Of course, he himself had figured it out the second he’d seen the badge. Castiel had managed to get a lot of information about who the agent trading him was, but no one ever had a picture to show. Thus the surprise when he found out that the man who had the warmest smile and nicest green eyes and smelled of apple pie happened to be the man whom he was trying to avoid. But it occurred to him that Dean didn’t know.  
The other man’s eyes widened and the gun slipped a little in his fingers, making it clear that he had frozen up. Something like this would have usually signalled for him to pounce, take down his enemy cleanly and swiftly, then make a quick getaway without anyone seeing him. In fact, it played out in Castiel’s head exactly how he would fire into Dean’s dominant arm, whipping the gun out of his hands and shooting him cleanly in the head. But he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Which frustrated the hell out of him. Castiel Novak, a trained spy with so much blood on his hands hell would be to good of a place for him, considered the biggest concern by the CIA, and he couldn’t disable an easy target like this.  
“Fired?”  
“Well, more demoted, but it’s still a blow.”  
He had passed it off nonchalantly, but Castiel could seen the terror and exhaustion behind his gaze, coupled with shame, and all because of him. Even if he did get captured, Castiel knew enough tricks to escape any time he wanted. It would be harder to get around though…  
While he had been thinking, the Winchester had clearly done something, because he strode up to him with a new ease, keeping the gun aimed at his head.  
“So why’d you have a coffee date with me?” He asked, and the words rang out in the otherwise silent space. “Scoping out the competition? Or…” The agent’s brows knit together. “Did you not know what I looked like? Wait, don’t you guys have a thing against homosexuals and stuff?”  
“How eloquently put.” The Russian man glared, keeping his own gun trained on the heart. “I do not speak for my whole country- but myself, I do not care about sexuality, that is why I went on that…date… with you. Until, of course, I found out who you were.”  
“Oh yea, and who’s that exactly?”  
“Someone who can’t leave a man trying to do his job alone.”  
“And what is your job? Blow up parliament buildings? Assassinate government officials.” Dean taunted, eyes dancing with apprehension.  
Castiel’s expression hardened. “Trust me, it is in both your country’s interest and mine that I do my job.”  
Dean faltered, but then pressed on. “Well you sure do your job well. Not a single security camera caught your face.”  
He smirked. “Some might find it inappropriate to compliment the person holding a gun to them.”  
“And some might want to watch the back door.”  
The second after he heard those words, Castiel spun around as the door he had taken next to no notice of burst open, and a whole army of guys with guns stormed in, each one pointed at him. Shouting cloaked the entire room, and Castiel still wasn’t adept enough at English to decipher all of it. But the message was clear, put down the gun and any other weapons.  
He knew he could still escape, but then he remembered the thought he had earlier. He lowered his gun, slipping his hands in his pockets and taking out a whole artillery of weapons. He would go the CIA, it would be good to get a look at the inside for future reference- and so what if by doing so he helps Dean Winchester keep his pride and his job, that was not important. Or so he told himself, meeting the other man’s eyes one last time before being shoved trough the doorway.


	4. Well this isn't fun

The street was absolutely cloaked in cars flashing blue, white and red lights, along with officers and curious onlookers crowding at the poor men trying to keep them at bay. Noise was consistent throughout the full square, from the shouts of officers to the prodding questions and general words coming from the crowd. In all the noise no one bothered to pay any attention to the quiet stranger standing off to the side, watching the proceedings silently but with amused interest. The large jacket which bunched up on their shoulders and hips, coupled with a hood that shadowed all but the unnerving smile on their lips served to mask not only the identity but also the gender of the mystery person. Knowing this, they stood at ease amid the officers and onlookers, while fingering the gun concealed in the large sweater, a precaution in case all didn’t go as they thought it would.  
It turned out to be unnecessary when the murmuring around them doubled and rose in volume, everyone standing taller, some going on their toes, trying to see the man being walked out of the building. The person’s grin slipped for a second, turning into scorn, before they seemed to get ahold of themselves. While everyone was pushing forward in an effort to catch a glimpse of the man that required so many cars and caused so much chaos, the stranger pushed through in the other direction, keeping their head tucked low and hands buried in their pockets, tracing out the curves of the pistol with a finger. They turned around a final time once they reached what seemed to be the end of the crowd, looking towards the man, his dark hair ruffled but otherwise he was put together, even flashing a cocky wink at the woman holding the door to the police car open for him as he got in.  
The mysterious person also flashed their glance at the man who stepped out of the building, eyes searching for something, until they landed on the prisoner. He was, unlike the rest, devoid of his uniform, but held a gun loosely in one hand, which he tucked into his waist whilst looking at the large group assembled. He once again looked toward the car, where the other was already staring at him. The stranger feel their eyebrows twist together. This was new. Resolving to look into this new development, they spun around, disappearing around the corner, only the faint scent of rosemary left in their wake. 

Dean felt relived but at the same time a little sad as Castiel was driven away, presumably back to headquarters where he would be kept for questioning. It was freeing to not have the other man’s blue eyes burning holes into him with their intensity, but he also couldn’t shake the slight sadness at seeing him go.  
Man, up Winchester. You caught the bad guy- and that’s it.  
Dean was startled when someone came from behind him, laying a hand on his shoulder. He spun around to come face to face with a woman who currently had a very concerned expression playing across her features. She retracted her hand quickly at the wide-eyed look he gave her, and, enunciating every word, asked, “Are you okay? Do you need assistance?”  
Dean glared at her. “I’m fine.” He said, voice rising defensively as he took step away from her. When she raised her eyebrows at him, he just turned around and began walking away, calling out, “I swear!”, over his shoulder.  
Dean buried his hands in his pockets, ducking under the police tape and keeping his head low as he shoved through the crowd. In the corner of his eye he though he saw a suspicious person walking against the crowd, but when he glanced up to get a better look, they were gone. Weird.  
The stares he was getting now were unlike those of the people in the coffee shop and at headquarters, and he growled under his breath, frankly sick of it. He scanned is surroundings, then ducked into the fist alley he saw. Dean stumbled as far back as he could get, then slid down against the wall, the back of his jacket snagging on the rough surface of the building.  
What was wrong with him? Two days of stress and he was already turning into a madman. He pulled his knees up to his chest and buried his head in them, listening to the chaos a little ways down the street, and noting the general noise around him. Footsteps as people passed his little alley, hushed voices talking about the crime scene a little ways down the street. His breathing went from ragged and heavy to deep, and Dean felt his heart return to beating at an almost normal rate. Eventually he decided to stop hiding like a little kid, and stood up with complete intention to find his car (which, now that he though about it, was in the other direction), but froze when he heard the sound of something breaking and a woman’s shriek. He stood in place for a moment, trying to visualize where the noise came from, but another yell and a man’s voice yelling something indistinctive sent him running farther into the alley, where the noise seemed to have come from.  
His feet sent him careening around a corner and right into a hysterical looking woman, who was blubbering something about her belongings and guns. After a moment of scrutinizing her, Dean’s eyes landed on something red under where she was holding herself. His eyes widened and he gently moved her hands away from her stomach to find a huge splotch of red, which was consistently growing larger.  
“M’am? M’am can you make it just down the road there? There is a whole lot of friendly police who will help you.” Dean felt like he was speaking to a toddler, but the woman just widened her eyes and shook her head reverently. “And why not?” He was getting impatient now, glancing around and wondering just how far the son of a botch who stabbed her had gone already.  
“S-sc-scary…” She finally muttered, and Dean noticed that she had begun to shake in fear.  
“Oh… well.” Dean fumbled in his pockets, finally producing his cell phone. “Here, I’ll call nine-one-one, and you just wait for them to arrive while I track down the man who hurt you.”  
“O-okay.”  
A couple of minutes later Dean was flying through the alley in the direction the woman said the guy had gone, cursing the winding path as he came out from between the buildings. He looked left and right, and saw a teenage boy sitting on the steps of a wrecked house to his right. He ran up to him frantically, and before he could catch his breath to say anything, the boy pointed to the left. “He went that way.”  
Dean wouldn’t normally trust a guy who looked high enough to not even know where he was, but there wasn’t anyone to cross-reference with, so with a nod, Dean took off again.  
He found the guy leaning against a wall in a little nook between what looked like a hotel and pharmacy, not even subtle as he dig is filthy hands into the bright yellow backpack, smirking as he threw stuff on the ground that didn’t appeal to him. Dean narrowed his eyes at the knife, red with blood, tucked under his arm.  
“Hey! You!” He yelled, which in hindsight wasn’t the best idea, because the man looked up, and his eyes widened right before he took off, running in between the buildings. Dean followed him up and over a fence, hopping onto a dumpster and using the top of the fence as leverage to land on the other side, where the thief was already rounding a corner. It went on like this for two streets and one more alley, with Dean almost catching him only to lose time jumping over something or avoiding a car. As he was running through the alley Dean looked ahead to see nothing but concrete. He had the guy cornered.  
Instead of just giving up and putting on the handcuffs himself, which Dean would have gladly appreciated, the man spun around, throwing the bag down beside him. He raised the knife, a cruel smirk on his lips.  
“So you wanna go down fighting. How noble of you.” Dean growled, eyes locked with the other man as he slowly crept forward. Suddenly the guy lunged, and Dean spun out of the way, catching his wrist and spinning him into the wall. He twisted the man’s hand until the knife clattered to the ground. But the guy kicked out, catching Dean in the knee and causing his to stumble away, which gave the man the advantage, and he punched Dean in the jaw, sending him reeling back as stars dancing in his vision. Knife forgotten, the man slowed forward kicking Dean in the stomach and right into the wall. He kicked out again, but Dean shifted out of the way, pinning his foot against the wall and kneeing the guy in the crotch, elbow string him in the face. The man fell back, wiping at the blood now dripping from his nose. He let out an almost inhuman growl and with renewed vigour went at Dean, kicking his feet out from under him, which sent Dean crashing to the ground. He attempted to stand but the other guy was there, kicking his in the ribs and then the face. Dean grunted, but managed to catch the man’s foot at the next kick, pulling him down. Dean tried to pin him down, but the guy reached out and grasped the fallen knife. Dean leaned away at that, and ended up on his back, the knife having skimmed his arm. Blood was already welling out, and Dean used his other hand to stop the knife inches away from his throat. The guy on top of him growled in rage and pushed harder, so intent stabbing him in the throat that Dean managed to get his legs underneath him, throwing the man off. Before he could get up again Dean threw himself at him, getting punched in the cheek now, but he grabbed onto the knife, pulling it from the man’s grasp. The man tried to punch him again, and Dean caught the fist with his injured arm, wincing at the pain that flashed up and down it. Wanting this over, he pulled the man forward, and his other hand came up, hitting him square in the head with the handle of the knife. The man slumped to the ground, unconscious. With a sigh, Dean leaned back, scrambling back to lean against the opposite wall, breathing heavily with his hand placed on his wound. The blood felt slick and warm on his fingers, and took the hand off to shove the hair away from his face, conscious not to get blood all over his face. The alley seemed deathly quiet without the noise of fighting, and he shut his eyes, thumping his head against the hard brick.  
The familiar ring of his phone suddenly rang out, echoing off the walls, it’s cheerful tune didn’t match Dean’s mood nor the place he was in, and he hurried to answer, just wanting the jingle to end. He didn’t bother looking at the caller ID before answering, putting it against his ear and cradling it between his shoulder and ear so that his hand could go back to covering the wound.  
“Hello?” He said gruffly, then felt warmness spread through him at the familiar voice of his younger cousin.  
“Hey Dean!” Jo said, clearly cheerful after the little vacation. “We’re back from out vacation! Sorry i’m calling from Bobby’s phone, mine’s out of battery.” Jo never referred to her stepfather as ‘Dad’, and for some reason no one seemed to care about it.  
“That’s alright, and I wanna hear all about the trip, but, um, can you please put uncle Bobby on the phone for a second?”  
Something in his voice must have seemed odd, because her voice immediately turned concerned. “Is everything alright, Dean?”  
“Well… Could you please just put him on the phone?”  
Finally, after what seemed like eternity, Jo muttered a worried “Sure”, and then Dean heard the crackle of the phone being lowered as she went in search of Bobby.  
Bobby wasn’t actually Dean’s uncle, but he might as well have been for how much he took care of Dean and Sam when they wear younger. He used to work for the CIA as well, and he and Dean’s father were not only partners but best friends. But when an unfortunate mission caused Bobby’s then-wife Karen Singer to be shot in the heart, he left, instead opening up a bookstore and working part time fixing cars for low prices. Dean couldn’t count the number of times he and Samy stayed with him when their father was really involved in a case, to the point that he wouldn’t leave the office even if it was to see his children. Dean had only the faintest memories of his mom, who died from a heart attack a little after Sam was born, so the only real family he knew was Bobby, and, when he got married, Ellen and Jo. Aunt Ellen was actually like an aunt to him, always inviting the Winchester brothers to Thanksgiving dinner and for Christmas and just to spend time with them. They made a point of never declining. And Jo was like a younger sister, sometimes acting just as frustrating as one.  
“Hello? Dean, what’s wrong?” Bobby’s gruff voice barked over the line, and the familiarity of it relaxed Dean.  
“Hey Bobby. I’m in an alley with a knocked out dude beside me.” There was a surprised intake of breath over the line, and Dean continued, eyes trained on the guy, watching for any sign of him waking up. “He stabbed a woman and stole her stuff, so I went after him.”  
“Are you-“  
“I’m fine, just bruises.” He winced as he stood and the cut brushed against the rough building. “And he cut me. But it’s nothing deep!” He hurried on. “It’s just… could you please get me? And, maybe call nine-one-one while you’re at it?” He felt like just a teenager again, asking Bobby to help fix one of his messes, but he knew he could trust Bobby.  
There was a sigh. Then, “Tell me where you are, son. I’ll come get ya.”


	5. Captured and Unafraid

The room they were keeping him in was drab and boring. Grey walls, grey ceiling, grey chairs, grey reflective table, and- brace yourself for this risky colour choice- grey floors. In Castiel’s opinion, the decorator was a complete slob. But he didn’t bother to share that with his guards as they pushed him into a seat. He sat calmly and even handed them his wrists to cuff him to tie. Considering the cold looks he got when he had commented on the interior of the main hallway he was led through- which had equally uncreative decor- Castiel figured the response wouldn’t be positive to whatever he said.  
One of the guy’s pulled on the rope, testing it with unnecessary force. An evil glint sparked across his gaze when Castiel winced, the skin there already sensitive from the tight cuffs they were in during the car ride. Thinking of that, already-familiar green eyes flashed behind his eyes. But Dean Winchester was a part of this- an important part, if the admiration in the voices of the guards as they talked in hushed voices, words like Winchester and best agent, coming up more than once meant anything.  
Both Castiel and his guards straightened when the door opened, allowing in a man who looked to be in his late forties. He nodded respectfully to the two men beside the door, and they both nodded with something akin to admiration in their gazes. When his eyes fell on Castiel though, his lip curled, and intense distrust blossomed behind his eyes.  
“Well I’m glad you could finally join us, mr. Novak.” Then his gaze swept the room searchingly, eyebrows furrowing when he didn’t find what he wanted. He turned to look at the other men, and though Castiel couldn’t see his expression,he guessed it to be less than pleasant by the way the huge men seemed to fold into themselves. “And why isn’t my so- agent winchester- present?”  
“Well- uh”  
“You see-“  
“Truth is, he didn’t seem too compelled to come with me.” Castiel finally spoke, saving the others the embarrassment and him the time by speaking for them. He focused all his attention on disguising his accent, which proved difficult with a certain Winchesters face taking up most of his brain space. Clearly that wasn’t his best idea though, as when the imposing man turned around, even the Russian spy felt a twinge of fear under that dagger-like look.  
He slowly walked around the table, and Castiel resisted the urge to scoot away. Instead he stared back defiantly as the man lowered his head close to his. He narrowed his eyes at the way the man’s features seemed vaguely familiar, but those thoughts were left behind when he felt his chair tipping back. “Now, you seem nice, but I’m not really looking for anyone at this point in my life. I’m more focusing on my-“ suddenly he was let go and collapsed on his back, head striking the floor with a crack. His fingers curled around the chairs handles, squeezing them tightly as his head began to throb. “Career.” He wheezed, and spots flashed in his vision as he was pulled up again.  
“Speaking of your career.” The man spoke slowly, a hint of malice in his tone. “Why don’t we start this with you telling me why exactly Russia has snuck in a man of your, shall we say, stature. Are you setting up a bomb? Maybe planning an assassination on some important government figure?” His voice rose in volume as he got more passionate, and Castiel winced. That might be a very useful habit, but not when his head was already pounding and the man was standing a foot away from him. Right now all it was doing was making him cranky.  
“Would you believe me if I said that I just really wanted to try your burgers?” The smirk was wiped from his face when a sudden pain raced up his foot. The man was digging his heel into it. Now, Castiel had experienced some of the worst kinds of torture during his training- he wasn’t Russia’s best spy for nothing- so instead of wincing or cursing he arranged his features into the picture of calm and serene.  
“I want you to know, “ The man leaned in again, and this time Castiel stayed silent, keeping his expression calm. “That we are very far from anyone who would care to hear a man begging for mercy. There are no camera’s. Whatever happens in this room will not be spread to society. There are no morals here.” The threat was clear, as was the way the other men looked at the same time wary and excited at the words.  
“Sorry, darling. I’m not into that.” The next thing Castiel knew, he was spitting blood, a dull ache spreading throughout his jaw and centring around the left side. Instead of frowning or showing that he was bothered, Castiel gave his best unaffected smirk. This seemed to rattle the older man, and he huffed, pulling himself into standing position, back straight as he turned to face the others.  
“I want someone watching him at all times.” He ordered, looking directly at one of them, who took the hint and nodded, disappearing out the door. A moment later Castiel heard another door slam shut, and turned to face the one-way mirror to his right. He couldn’t hear it, but he imagined the chair scraping back as the guard got settled, propping his feet up on the table he presumed was pushed up against a wall.  
Seemingly satisfied, the guard and his superior left the room, but not before giving him a cold look. Castiel heard the door lock, then something else beep, and all was silent. He observed the decor again, this time noting the absence of camera’s, clearly making this safe for performing unorthodox information gathering. Compared to what he had experienced before, this little meeting had been more practically a tea party, but something in him told Castiel that he really shouldn’t be underestimating America and it’s forces. He raised himself in his seat a little, twisting and arching his back in an attempt to look behind him, but he felt the chair teeter, and ceased immediately. The throbbing ache in his skull was not something he wanted to re experience.  
He let out a noisy breath of air, suddenly realizing the dullness he had condemned himself to when helping Dean. Not only that, but now he couldn’t fulfill what he had actually came here to do, which would cause as much havoc to the USA as it would Russia, definitely more grief…  
Unless… No, he was kidding himself. He was letting his emotions have the better of him- Dean Winchester may be kind to strangers, and he may be compassionate, but those qualities may alter towards someone like him.  
But maybe…  
For all he knew Castiel, would never see the Winchester again, so he shook his head, throwing that train of thought into the dark recess of his mind. Instead, seeking distraction, he turned once again to face the reflective surface on his right, raising one side of his lips in an enticing smirk.  
“Enjoying the view?” He asked the mirror, and, he wasn’t sure but he thought he heard a crash on the other side. Chuckling to himself, he winked. At least he had found a method of entertainment.

Turns out, they were keeping him there constantly. At some point the door had opened, and another man walked in, this one smaller than the others. He kept flicking his gaze nervously to Castiel, and his hands seemed to be shaking as he put a cuff on one of the Russian man’s wrists, attaching the other cuff to the table leg. Then he spent way too long on untying the rope. He practically ran out of the room, turning back to look at him one last time before locking the doors. Castiel just waggled the fingers of his free hand in response. A couple minutes later another person came in, another man. He had to wonder, where were all the female agents? But that thought was thrown out the window when the new man produced a tray with a sandwich, a plastic cup of water, and a small cookie. He hadn’t realized util then just how hungry he was, and he scooted his chair a little closer to the table when the food was place upon it.  
“Compliments of your captor.” He grumbled, and Castiel was embarrassed to admit to the little stutter in his heart at the mention of Dean. He pushed it away, of course, but it was still a little unsettling, how affected he was by a man he’d only met the day before.  
“Now, the decor may not be the best, but I’ve gotta admit, the food service is wonderful!” He stated cheerfully, digging in and ignoring the glare of the other man before again the door was locked, followed by the now familiar beep. He stuffed the rest of the sandwich in his mouth, then sighed contentedly, downing the water and proceeding to nibble on the cookie. He let a portion of him relax, looking around him, wondering whether tomorrow would be quite this simple.


	6. Bobby's Family

Dean winced as he jumped out of Bobby’s army green truck, feet hitting the ground hard and the pain shooting up to the large bruise he had managed to accumulate during his scuffle. He immediately limped to where Jo and Ellen were standing, door propped open. Ellen’s jaw dropped when she took a good look at Dean.  
“You said he was just a little hurt!” She yelled to her husband indignantly, leaning to look out from behind Dean’s shoulder as she roughly pulled the younger man into a tight hug.  
“That’s what he told me!” Bobby replied, locking the car and going up the stairs to his family. Ellen was still refusing to release Dean, so he just shook his head and shuffled past them, yelling something about grabbing some beer.  
“Oh look at you…” She held him at arms length, then suddenly slapped his arm.  
“Ow!” Dean whined, rubbing his skin, which was turning red and stinging. “What was that for?”  
“For getting injured! What did I tell you about doing that?”  
Dean rolled his eyes, but grinned. “No dying or you’ll kill me- trust me, I like living just fine.” He assured her.  
Ellen just humphed. “Sure don’t look like it.” She eyed him, then spun on her heel, declaring that she was grabbing the first aid kit. Which left just Jo and Dean.  
“So…” Dean began, but was interrupted by Jo flinging herself at him, latching on with her arms around him, restricting him from returning the hug. “Oh, well, I missed ya too sweetheart.” He attempted to awkwardly lift his arm just a bit to pat her on the back, and succeeded somewhat. They stood like that for a moment, until Jo sprang back, immediately releasing a tirade of words.  
“I cam’t believe how much you missed, Hawaii was great! Bobby and Ellen were so sweet, it honestly gave me a toothache, and we swam with dolphins, and then- this is awesome- we hiked up to a volcano! I also got my hair braided and- oh! We got you and Sam cool bracelets! I would go get them, but you don’t look like you should be left alone right now. You know, it takes skill to not only capture a Russian spy with no injury, but then get completely destroyed by a thief a moment after.” She paused to take a breath, and Dean latched onto that moment.  
“Hey Jo, how about I go to the living room, and you grab the bracelets so I can give Sammy his when I see him.” He suggested, giving her an encouraging smile and not a moment to respond as he shifted past her into the house. He released a relived sigh when he collapsed into a squeaky couch, relishing in the small comfort it provided. Not so much the material, but the smell and atmosphere he felt all around him. It was familiar and was associated with memories of sitting with Sam and stumbling through his homework, then taking the first available moment to leave Sam to his own nerdy ways and slip into the garage, where Bobby always had a work in progress of some kind. Whether it was a ’69 Pontiac, or just a simple 2012 Nissan, a car was still a car and Dean loved working on them.  
He jerked forward when a cold cloth was pressed to the nape of his neck- then spun around to face Bobby. The other man shared one of his rare smiles, then circled the couch and propped a chair out in front of Dean.  
“Boy, you really gotta learn to cover your face.” Bobby chided, settling into the chair and dipping the cloth in the bow of cold water, raising it to Dean’s jaw. The coolness that spread out from that point of contact felt like a big relief not only to that bruise but to all of Dean’s head, which had been foggy and a jumble of todays events up until this point.  
“Bobby…” He began, averting his eyes to the couch cushion, picking absently at a thread. He gathered himself, needing to share today’s events with someone, and knowing no one better than the man sitting in from of him for a confidant.  
“Well? I’m not getting any younger here.” Bobby’s gruff voice cut through the already reforming curtain of fog, and Dean cleared his throat, giving his head a little shake to clear it. He regretted it immediately when his already battered body and brain protested at the sudden movement.  
“You-uh-you know how I finally caught the guy I’ve been after today? And… and how he didn’t even hit me or anything? Well, I know the reason- at least, I think I know the reason-“  
“Oh for the love of god, spit it out already!”  
“Alright.” Dean shifted a little, burying his hands under his legs so that he didn’t completely unravel Ellen’s furniture. “IthinkIwentonadatewithhim.”  
Bobby leaned forward, one eyebrow lifted. A confused look had overtaken his face, and his eyebrows were turned up in the middle, the frown lines around his mouth deepening as he tried to make sense of jumble of words Dean had just tossed at him. A couple seconds passed, and suddenly it was like a light went off behind his eyes. The Winchester shifted back, worried at what the reaction would be. But the last thing he expected was the boom of laughter that erupted from Bobby’s chest. The older man was practically doubled over in laughter, and Dean stared at him with a mixture of relief, confusion, and horror. Was the guy officially losing it?  
Footsteps pounded outside, and Ellen and Jo both appeared in the doorway, Jo holding a knotted mess Dean assumed to be his and Sam’s bracelets. Ellen was carrying a first aid kit, and she set it on the coffee table before kneeling beside her husband. She and Dean exchanged confused looks, hers searching for answers, and Dean’s saying that he was just as baffled as her.  
“Bobby? Uh, honey?” Ellen stepped forward, resting a hand on the man’s back, “Are you okay? Not that I don’t like you laughing, but…”  
“What she means to say is are you officially losing it?” Jo cut in, giving her mom an overly-enthusiastic smile when she turned to glare at her.  
Bobby sat back, still grinning as he swiped away a stray laugh-induced tear. “No, honey.” He assured, “It’s just-“ Suddenly he cut himself off- eyes flashing to Dean. The question was obvious, and as much as Dean trusted Ellen and Jo and knew they would never do anything to harm him or judge him and his decisions, he did not want anyone else knowing about him and Castiel just yet.  
Hell, he himself was just getting accustomed to the notion that he spent a decent, downright enjoyable hour and a half chatting with a Russian spy. A Russian spy he then captured.  
He gave his head the tiniest shake, just so Bobby got his answer, then raised his eyes to the two women.  
“I was just telling him how one of these bruises was actually from me slipping on my own sock, and…” It was clearly not a believable story, so he just turned to the other man. “Oh Bobby it’s too embarrassing- you should finish it.”  
Bobby turned cold eyes on the Winchester. “Thanks, Dean.” He said dryly. “What an honour.”  
They sat silently a moment as Bobby clearly tried to think of an amusing anecdote- which was a feat in itself considering how surly the guy was, but they were saved from the calculating looks by Dean’s phone going off.  
He fumbled for it, finally producing it from his back pocket and frowning at the small chip the screen accumulated, presumably in his tussle. But the frown was erased as he read the caller ID, partly because it was a natural reaction to seeing his brothers name and partly because he didn’t want to worry him.  
“Heya Sammy!” He tried to sound as carefree as possible, and pushed away the pain in his back as he shifted into a more comfortable position.  
“Hey Dean!” His brothers voice rang out form the other end, accompanied by background noise from a TV. “I’m at Charlie’s, she said we should all have dinner together.”  
“Oh…” Dean raised his left hand to check the time, eyes widening for a second when he saw that it was already quarter to six. “Yea, sure I’ll be there.”  
“Great! And also, do I wanna know why you weren’t home last night?” Dean’s smile dropped, but Sam sounded teasing, so he just went along with it.  
“Ah, yea… I’ll tell you there.”  
Sam laughed. “Yea, sure. Bye Dean.”  
Dean dropped his phone into his lap, avoiding Bobby’s prying eyes. Clearly he had heard the conversation.  
“So he doesn’t know yet?”  
Dean sighed, running a hand through his hair agitatedly. “Apparently not. But uh- thanks for your help.” He pushed himself up, shuffling past Bobby’s chair. “But I think I gotta be-“  
“Not. One. More. Step.” Ellen was infant of him in an instant, pushing him back into the couch. “Let me take a look at you. If you have anything that could get infected…”  
“But-“  
“There better be no but’s except yours sitting on that couch young man!”  
She proceeded to come at him with her first aid kit, dabbing at all the cuts he accumulated, which ended with his whole body stinging, then wrapping up the particularly nasty one h got above his ankle.  
“There, now you can take my car home- I’ll come pick it up tomorrow.” She stepped back, allowing Dean to once again squeeze out from his position between the chair and the couch. He hurried toward the door, then remembered himself and turned around, flashing the whole family a warm smile. “Thanks guys, really.”  
He pulled open the door, and was about to step out when Jo suddenly yelled, “Wait!” He paused, and she ran to him, shoving the two bracelets into his hand. “Sorry I couldn’t get them untangled, you just have to figure it out when you get there.”  
He laughed, ruffling the younger girls hair. “Yea, real kind of ya.”  
When he climbed into Ellen’s little car, Dean let his head drop onto the steering wheel, grunting as pain laced up his back at the stretching motion. Well, this would be fun to explain.


	7. Hopeless

When Dean pulled up to Charlie’s apartment building, he had the irrational thought to just drive past it, maybe sleep in his car- if only to avoid the inevitable questioning he would have to face. But the rational part of him won over and he turned into the garage, where he parked in Charlie’s designated spot. She actually never parked there, the main reason being that she did not in fact own a car at the moment. She had sold it to get a nice apartment downtown, saying that she could bus everywhere anyway.  
Before Dean left his car he grabbed the bag if groceries Charlie had texted him to get. Apparently the three of them were having a family dinner. Perfect, nothing like some wrapped injuries and bruises to explain at a warm friendly gathering.  
He banged on the door with his foot, hands overtaken by bags, and heard Sam yell “It’s open!”.  
“Yea well that’s great news- now could you open the damn door?”  
“Alright, alright.” Sam said a moment later, opening the door to reveal he was wearing one of Charlie's geeky aprons, which had the entirety of the game pac-man drawn across it. “I hope you didn't ‘accidentally’ forget-…” His smile fell when he raised his eyes from the groceries to Dean’s face. “What happened?”  
Dean averted his eyes, shoving past his younger brother and into the room. “It’s a long story.”  
“But Dean-“  
“All you need to know is I’m fine and I might explain later.” He winced at the harshness in his own words, but it was better to have Sam mad then worried. “Now where’s my favourite geeky lesbian?”  
“She’s in the kitchen.” Sam growled, this time shoving past Dean, and letting the kitchen door swing shut behind him.  
With a tired sigh, Dean set the groceries down, taking a second to gather himself. It had been been a long, hard day and it was beginning to seem like this dinner wouldn’t be any easier. Charlie was bound to have a better reaction than Sam, and with that thought in mind, the older Winchester picked up the bags once more, and shouldered the door open.  
The smell hit him immediately, and his stomach took no time at all to react, growling loudly at the promise of Charlie’s famous lasagna, which tasted like it was handcrafted by gods. Or angels, maybe.  
Sam must have already told her about Dean’s state, because she was immediately on him, taking the groceries and practically flinging them on the counter. “Anything broken?” She asked, which was quite inconvenient because at the time she was checking his face for said brokenness or other injuries.  
Her hands were on his nose when he tried to reply, warping his voice to sound so funny even Sam smiled across the room. “No, Charlie. Bobby and Ellen checked me over. Just because you’ve been watching Grey’s Anatomy doesn't mean that you could’ve done anything about it either, if something was broken.” Despite his earlier foul mood, Dean found himself grinning as well, and batted at her hand to release his nose.  
“Fine, fine.” She stepped back, and that was that. Immediately Dean was assigned washing the tomatoes he had brought and cutting them, along with some other ingredients, to make a salad. The three of them gradually forgot about earlier dilemmas. Sam still looked closely at Dean, keeping an eye on him as he worked with the knife, but laughing at his jokes and teasing him in return. It took a while, but eventually they were all sitting at the table, the silence content as they all dug into a meal of their own making.  
After a few minutes passed and the hungry bunch slowed to a healthy pace of eating, Sam spoke up.  
“So, has anyone has any romantic situations today?” he asked casually, but Dean stiffened, almost spitting his food all over the table. That would have been a give away and embarrassing, good thing that didn’t happen! No- of course he just choked on his food instead. Charlie and Sam both gave him worried looks, and when he finally got a grip on himself, Charlie put a hand on his arm.  
“What is it? Does something hurt in your lungs? Maybe you got hit somewhere…”  
“I’m fine- I just choked on my food, calm down. Now, Sam, what were you saying?”  
As the two sets of eyes were once again drawn to him, Sam suddenly became very flustered. “Um, I don’t really remember. You know what, how about we-“  
“Oh no Sam Winchester. You were talking as if you’re interested in someone, and if my best friend-“ Charlie turned to look at Dean, “-one of my best friends- is in a romantic situation I will not stop until I know all about it! We will be completely supportive, no matter who it is!”  
Sam shifted his eyes to Dean, who just nodded his head in affirmation, trying to keep an encouraging smile on his face. In reality, Dean knew that if that person at all endangered his little brother either emotionally or physically, he would stab them. Repeatedly. Until they either learnt their lesson or died. Whichever came first. He startled out of his momentary moment of protective violence when Sam began speaking again.  
He was staring shyly at the tablecloth, rubbing it between finger and thumb. The faint blush across his cheeks was unmistakeable. “So, you guys know how after Jess- well, what happened to her happened… I said I would never care about anyone like I did about her again?”  “Yea, I personally never believed that.”  
“Thanks, Dean.” He said dryly, then continued. “Well, I don’t know if it’s quite the same with this guy- but it might be.”  
“Awe, that’s great Sam!” Charlie cried, leaning over the table to give Sam a surprisingly graceful one-armed hug.  
“I’m happy for you Sammy! I always knew someone as good as you could find love aga- wait... This guy?”  
The cheer at the table died down as both Sam and Charlie looked at Dean apprehensively. It killed Dean to see the little inkling of fear in his gaze, as if he was worried there would ever come a time when Dean wouldn’t be proud and happy for him. Sure it was a bit of a shocker, considering Sam was never quite as open with Dean about his love interests as he was about, well, everything else, but Dean would always stand by him!  “I’m sure this guy is great! I”m just so proud of you Sammy!” He stood from the table, walking around Charlie to give Sam a proper hug. “And I’m sure Jess is too.” He whispered, and felt Sam’s grip tighten fractionally.  
When they sat down again, Sam resumed speaking. “So anyway, his name is Gabriel and he just started working at that candy store you two love. Oh, by the way…” He trailed off, standing and jogging into the kitchen. Dean and Charlie exchanged dubious looks while he was gone, which melted into nothing short of adoration when Sam returned, toting a bag labelled “Sweeter than Heaven”. Sure, the store had a strange name- but it’s product was just too delicious for Dean to find it in himself to care. “Now, now kids! These are for dessert!” Sam wagged his finger teasingly at them, and had to duck the slice of bread thrown at him.  
Later, Dean finally pulled together enough confidence to tell Sam about what happened between him and their father. Clearly Charlie hadn’t mentioned it, and Dean was thankful to her for it. He had just opened his mouth to speak, though, when Charlie suddenly decided it was her turn to share.  
“You know how Sam was talking about a guy he likes?” She suddenly burst out, and her face turned a shade of red to rival that of her hair. When the two brothers nodded, urging her to go on, she took a deep breath. “Well there’s a girl I really like- you two know her- and I think she just might feel the same way about me…”  
There was a pause, and Dean spoke up, giving Charlie a lopsided smile in hope that it might help her loosen her tight grip on the tablecloth. That poor piece of fabric would forever look back on that day as some kind of horrible nightmare. “Uh, Charlie, if you’re waiting for some kind of big reaction to the fact that you like a girl, may I remind you that it is apparently a fact now that you are the only one here exclusively into girls.”  
She laughed quietly, and her hands released their hold on the cloth. “Alright, I’m sure there’s nothing to be nervous about… I’ll just go out and say it, then. I have a date with Dorothy Baum this weekend.”  
The reaction was muted, but it was hardly positive. Sam’s forked scraped across the plate, a sure indication of his shock. This time it was Dean who’s hands clenched tightly, practically crushing the cracker he had just grabbed. Charlie shifted in her seat, eyeing the Winchester brothers warily.  
The two of them were fine with her dating whomever she wanted to, as long as that person didn’t pose a threat to life of the girl who was practically their little sister. And as far as either of them was concerned, Dorothy Baum fell about as far away from that radar as you can go. Sure, she worked with them, but she was bad even by their standards. John Winchester himself take a moment to gather the courage to reprimand her, which was why everyone just found it best to stay out of her way. They were all content just a taking in her motorcycle which was sometimes covered in dirt and other stuff no one looked too closely at after the weekend. Her missions were always whispered about, but no one ever dared ask about them out right. All that they knew was that she did the dirty work and had no remorse. Leave it to Charlie to fall in love with her.  
“Guys? I know you don’t like her, but maybe give her a chance? For me?”  
Dean softened as he gazed at the girl, who was looking between him and Sam anxiously.  
“Sure, sweetheart.” He finally said, cutting a warning look to Sam when the other man opened his mouth. “You know we’ll stand by you no matter what.”  
The relief was evident on her face as she jumped form her seat to give a quick hug to both the brothers.  
“Thank you guys! You have no idea how happy I am, I knew I could count on you!”  
“Sure Charlie, you’re like family.” Sam finally smiled at her, clearly finished with whatever internal battle he had been fighting on the subject of the girls love life. Once again they sat, finally finishing their food and eventually making their way to the living room, where they gorged on the candy.  
Once again, Dean pushed himself to speak up. He finished chewing on his candy and faced his brother, feeling his heart hammering in his chest. If there was anyone who’s reaction he cared most about, it was Sam. Their father was never quite what you would see in movies, and while Dean just accepted that fact and moved on, Sam was determined that he could be a normal father. This resulted in many arguments between the two, and each time when Dean went to comfort Sam afterwards, his heart broke to see the hope leaving his little brothers eyes. Eventually, it disappeared altogether. But the arguing persisted, and the only time the two would spend time in the same room was if it was work related or a mandatory family holiday. Dean secretly believed that Sam had never lost all hope, and a tiny shred was still there, hurting a little more each time their father did something like what he did to Dean. Sammy would never fully realize that their father was a sick man, sick with grief, sick with his job, sick with it all- and honestly, it was probably easier to believe otherwise, as Dean could still remember all those times they went to the park together, or when his dad taught him how to hold his brother properly when they were both still very little.  
“Um, Sammy?”  
“Yea, Dean?” Sam turned to him as well, and the grin on his face almost changed Dean’s mind, but when he flicked his eyes to Charlie, she gave him an encouraging nod, and he continued.  
“Well.. the reason I wasn’t home last night is a little more complicated than what you think.” He could already see his brothers guarded expression, and that just made him incredibly angry at their dad, for disappointing him again, for never being good or loving. “You know how I had that mission with the Russian secret agent?”  
“Yea, Castiel, right?”  
Dean ignored the annoying jump in his chest as the name brought forth a pair of gorgeous blue eyes. “Exactly. I caught him today.”  
“Is that where you got the injuries?”  
“No- that was a scuffle afterward, some douchebag stabbed a lady and stole her bag. But anyway, I nearly caught him yesterday. Emphasis on the nearly. Dad kind of lost it and… well he threatened to have me taken off his squad-“  “What? You’re the best one there!”  
“-would you let me finish! He threatened that, and, as a punishment, he kicked me out of out house. I’m staying with Charlie for a while, until I find my own place.”  
It was silent, and then Sam stood up. Not saying a word, he crossed the room to the chair where Dean had hung his jacket. He stood still for a second, not betraying anything except the fact that his fists were tightly clenched, thumbs twitching across his knuckles. Then suddenly he kicked out, causing the chair to tip over and skid along the wall to the opposite corner.  
“Sam?”  
“I can’t believe him!” He accentuated the statement by stomping his foot, which didn’t seem childish, but more heartbreaking. “He’s gone too far! Nothing is more important than family, and kicking his own son out without warning, as well as threatening his job!” Sam buried his hands in his hair, breathing heavily, and Dean took a step forward, reaching a hand out to his baby brother. Because that was who he was right now. Not some highly educated lawyer, not a guy coming to terms with his newfound interest in men, not a guy over at a friends house for dinner. He was Dean’s baby brother, and the last bit of hope, cleverly hidden behind anger up until now, shattered. At that moment, Sam looked so very small, wrapping his arms around himself even when Dean put a hand on his shoulder. “I just… How could he do this? We’re his kids.” His voice broke at the end, and Dean knew with a grave certainty that he finally saw it. What had really become of their father. Without waiting for Sam to step forward, Dean pulled his brother toward him roughly, blinking away tears as Sammy burrowed into his shoulder like he did when he was younger and he had a nightmare, or on their mothers birthday, his own arms coming up to hug Dean back. The man was a giant, and yet Dean never felt more big than his brother.  
Eventually, Charlie stepped forward as well, joining in on the hug. When Sam finally stilled, the three pulled away, and he looked at the two of them brokenly.  
“Sam-“  
“Sammy-“  “I gotta go. See you later guys.” The Winchester grabbed his coat, rifling through the pockets until he found his keys. He was surprised when Dean tossed another set of keys at him.  
“Take Ellen’s car. You’ll be fine in it.”  
For once, Sam didn’t argue Deans somewhat ridiculous belief that cars cared for their owners. And that car’s owner was family.  
“Okay.” He stepped through the door, then poked his head back in. “Oh and Dean?”  
“Yea?”  
“Don’t worry about me. Please.”  
Once the door shut, and Dean and Charlie had collapsed back onto the couch, and Dean surprised her by letting out a quiet chuckle.  
“What?”  
“He said that as if there is ever a time when I don’t worry about him.” There was no humour in his eyes though. When he tried to fall asleep that night, all Dean could see was that moment when the hope shattered, replaying over and over behind closed eyelids.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I didn't get to skim through this before I posted for mistakes! And also- how would you feel about the next chapter being from Sam's point of view? Please leave opinions in the comments!


End file.
